‘In the end we will,’ Zerreiss assured him. ‘Though I wish it were possible to reach that goal without bloodshed.’
‘That’s war, sir,’ Wellem offered.
‘As you say.’ Their master’s tone was genuinely regretful. ‘Do you know the story of the Sythea?’
They did, of course; the ancient fable was well known in the northern lands. But it pleased him to occasionally put things in allegorical form, so they feigned ignorance.
‘The men of the Sythea,’ he began, ‘who lived deep inside
the Bariall caves, always held that they were in a state of grace. They had shelter and warmth in their underground burrows, and fungus to eat and water to drink from subterranean rivers. They even had some light from glowing minerals and phosphorescent lichens. The Sythea were dimly aware that another world existed far above them and the occasional hardy soul ventured out, never to return. But these troglodytes weren’t concerned with other worlds. Why should they be? Their domain had everything they needed, and they believed themselves and their dingy warrens to be protected by their underworld gods. Do you know what happened to change that?’
Of course they did; they’d heard the story many times. ‘A flood, sir,’ Sephor dutifully replied.
‘A flood, yes.’ Sometimes Zerreiss seemed for all the world like a children’s tutor or priest-scholar in the way he spoke to people. But somehow he had the knack of not making it sound patronising. ‘Their underground rivers and lakes swelled because of unusually heavy rainfall on the surface, though of course they didn’t know that. The water level kept rising and they were forced to move higher and higher, until eventually they had no choice but to leave their caves and risk the alien surface world. This was a cause of great fear to them, and many stubbornly clung on to what remained of their underground kingdom. Eventually, they perished. But others, bolder or more desperate, did venture out. Those who braved the surface, near-blinded by the light, found a world of wonder and fecundity. And of course the legends say that they became men as we know them. Some believe that the gods of this world sent the flood to force them from their caves so that the true race of men could begin.’ He paused, almost theatrically. ‘I am the flood.’
‘Not a god?’ Sephor ventured, half humorously. It was a measure of his master’s tolerance that he could make such a comment.
Zerreiss smiled. ‘No, not a god. Though some would try to see me that way. An instrument of the gods, perhaps, if such things as gods exist. Don’t look so shocked, Wellem. You know my views on this matter.’
‘Yes, sir. It’s the way I was brought up, I suppose. Sorry, sir.’
‘I’ll have no one apologise for what they believe, my friend. You have never seen me suppress any faith in the lands we’ve taken, nor will I start now. I believe that in time people will come to their own conclusions about the truth or falsity of these things.’
‘That does you credit, sir.’
‘You know, commanders of old had aides whose job it was to whisper in their ears that their victories and triumphs, like life itself, were all transient. If not actually illusions.’ He smiled again. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t require that of you two. I have no need of such. That voice has always been here, in my head.’ He lifted a hand to his temple. ‘I stray from the point. But I think you see what I was getting at with the story of the Sythea. The people of the city below are troglodytes, through no fault of their own, and see no need to come out of their comfortable caves. Our mission is to bring them into the light. The true light.’ He let that soak in, then said, ‘Why do you follow me?’
Had the question been asked by a true tyrant, his minions would have been quaking for fear of giving a wrong answer. But this was Zerreiss.
‘Because you are a great conqueror, sir,’ Wellem said.
‘Exactly what I’d expect from an old soldier.’ He looked to his other, younger aide. ‘Sephor?’
‘Because you are just, sir, and seek to make your peoples’ lives better.’
‘I want to bring them into the light, yes. But I say you follow not me, but what I have, what I
am
. Not the man but
the tinder he carries inside, let’s say.’ He seemed pleased with the analogy. ‘We are firm in our resolve? As one in the legitimacy of our crusade?’
‘Yes, sir!’ they chorused.
‘Then I’m blessed.’ He turned a benign grin on them. ‘To more mundane matters. What do we know of the two ships the empires sent our way?’
‘They’re making a race of it, sir,’ Sephor reported. ‘It’s difficult to say which will enter your waters first.’
‘When they do, we must be ready for them.’
‘Do we meet them as friend or foe?’
‘I’ve yet to decide on what response would be appropriate.’
‘With respect, sir,’ Wellem said, ‘would it do to antagonise Gath Tampoor or Rintarah?’
‘I think the question is better put the other way about: would they be wise to antagonise me?’
‘Perhaps they simply need assurances of the limit your influence will extend to, sir,’ Sephor suggested.
‘We push further south.’
‘Yes, sir. But where do we stop?’
‘Stop? We’ve hardly begun.’
The arrival of a messenger put paid to the discussion. He was blue with cold and caked with snow. Shivering, he stamped his boots while delivering a salute. ‘We have tidings, sir.’
‘You look perished, lieutenant,’ Zerreiss told him. ‘A warming drink for this man!’ He moved closer and asked, ‘What’s their decision? Yes or no?’
‘They refuse to surrender, sir.’
Zerreiss sighed. ‘Then it comes to my intervention again.’ He walked to the open tent flap and looked down at the city and the great fortress it suckled. Its shimmering lights and the driving snow made it all seem unreal somehow. His aides joined him. ‘Let’s be done with this,’ he decided. ‘Make
ready the troops. We move to the endgame.’ He lifted his hands.
What happened next had those around him thinking that perhaps he was a god after all.
As yet, whatever the warlord did had little effect in the temperate south. Besides, they had pressing problems nearer to home.
In a run-down, near lawless quarter of Valdarr, not far from the docks, a secret hide-out had been hastily established. It was in a deconsecrated temple that had seen its congregation go down along with the area. A new, empire-built place of worship in an adjoining, more salubrious neighbourhood had taken the rest. Now it was boarded-up and dusty, and ideally situated for Resistance purposes.
In one corner, Phoenix and Caldason stood before a wall-mounted, luminous map. For once, the sorcerer wasn’t trying out a magical disguise.
‘See it?’ he said, pointing to one of numerous specks off Bhealfa’s northern coast.
‘Just about. And you’re sure that’s the place?’
‘There’s nothing totally certain about it,’ Phoenix admitted. ‘But Covenant’s been studying the mystery of the Clepsydra for years, and all the probabilities indicate this islet.’ He tapped the map with his finger.
‘Probabilities,’ Caldason repeated.
‘It’s the best we can offer, short of going there.’
‘Which I hope you’re not thinking of doing, Reeth,’ Karr said. He’d approached without them noticing. ‘At least, not unless you’re part of a Resistance mission.’
‘We have an agreement, don’t we?’
‘We do. But I know how frustrating it must be for you having to wait.’
‘I asked Phoenix to show me where the thing might be
because I’m curious. But there’s a limit to my patience, Karr. Do you have any idea when I’ll get to go?’
‘No, frankly. What with the move, and now what’s happened to Kinsel. And there’s still the question of getting the gold to Darrok.’
‘I thought that might be on your mind.’
‘Well, at least you don’t go into a sulk whenever it’s mentioned. I suppose that’s some kind of progress.’
‘I’m thinking about it.’
